


Don't Cry Over Spilt Milk

by Angelwithbrokenwings



Series: Destiel Hospital Coffee Shop AU [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hospitals, M/M, Medicine, concussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 17:52:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13595253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelwithbrokenwings/pseuds/Angelwithbrokenwings
Summary: Dean hurts himself again, though it isn't his fault, his nurse in shining scrubs is still there to save him.





	Don't Cry Over Spilt Milk

Today, Dean was introducing the new trainee Jo to the running of the cafe. Dean went to get more coffee cups, leaving Jo to tend to her first customer. She turned around to start making the drink. But she didn't realize how heavy the milk carton was, causing her to spill the drink all over the counter and the floor. 

“Crap, crap, crap,” she muttered under her breath. “One moment ma’am, I’ll be right back,” she apologized to the customer before running to the storage closet to find a wet floor sign. 

Dean walked back in at that moment with the cups in hand, and saw the customer waiting. “Have you been served?” he asked, walking towards the cash register. 

“Yeah, the girl just left to get the-” she was cut off as Dean fell to the ground with a thud and a smack. His head smashed against the floor, and coffee cups rained down around him. 

“Oh my god!” the customer yelled in surprise, peering over the counter to see Dean’s unconscious form. The woman turned around, yelling for help as one Doctor Novak was walking past. 

Cas ran over, “What’s wrong, are you hurt?” 

“No,” the woman replied, “the barista just slipped. I think he’s unconscious; he hit his head pretty hard!”

Jo walked back in, putting the sign down. “Shit, Dean!” she cried, running over to him. 

“No!” Cas shouted, “Don’t move him,” he ordered, moving around the counter while dodging the coffee cups. Cas made eye contact with Jo. “Run to the ER, ask for Doctor Novak’s interns, and tell them to bring a neck brace, a backboard, and a gurney - now!” Jo nodded and ran to the ER while Cas tended to Dean. 

“Dean, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?” Cas called. He gently stabilized his neck and sighed a breath of relief as his interns ran in with everything he would need. 

“Claire, come here and support his neck just like this - don’t move,” Cas instructed as he moved next to Dean, assessing his breathing and feeling for his pulse. He was relieved when both were normal. He grabbed the neck brace from one of his interns and fastened it around Dean’s neck, while still getting Claire to hold his neck as still as possible. As Cas was telling the interns the next step of how they were going to help get Dean onto the backboard, he heard Claire speak. 

“Don’t worry sir, everything is okay; you’ve just had an accident,” she smiled kindly. 

Cas turned around to see Dean’s eyes slowly opening and coming into focus. He saw the startled look on his face, and immediately knelt by his side again. “Dean, hey - look at me. You’re alright, you’re in the hospital, you slipped over and hit your head pretty hard.” 

Dean reached up to pull the neck brace off, but was stopped by Cas’ hand. “Dean, I wouldn’t do that,” Cas reprimanded. 

“‘M fine,” Dean replied. 

“Really? How many head injuries with probably concussions have you had?” Cas questioned. 

Dean scrunched his face in thought. “Six." 

“Six?!” 

“One time, when I was a baby, I ran head first into a chair,” Dean laughed and began to sit up. “Really, I’m fine; you can check me over if you want, but I ain't wearing that,” he pointed to the neck brace. 

Against Cas’ better judgement, he took off the neck brace and slowly helped Dean to his feet. The pair moved past the interns, who were clearly disappointed that the action was over and that this wasn’t an interesting case. 

Cas once again lead Dean into a cubicle and asked him to sit on the bed. He began his exam by feeling the back of his head for abnormalities and winced as he felt the bump that was beginning to form. “That’s going to be nasty in the morning! Does it hurt anywhere else? Do you have a headache?” 

Dean nodded. “A little, yeah, but no pain anywhere else.” 

Cas continued his examination by feeling Dean’s neck, shining a light in his eyes, and getting Dean to follow his finger. "Are you going to let me take an x-ray of that thick skull of yours?" Cas inquired. 

"No." 

"Didn't think so," the doctor chuckled.

"Do you at least have someone who can wake you every hour to check for concussion?" 

Dean shook his head. "Nah, I live by myself." 

"Then you'll stay in my guest room tonight," Cas insisted. 

"Oh no, really, I couldn't bother you-" 

"It would bother me a lot more if my favorite barista had too much brain damage to take my coffee order.” 

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Okay, I see your point, doc." 

Cas smiled. “I’m going to get you an ice pack for your head. Rest here for a bit; my shift finishes in a couple of hours. I’ll have my interns do half hourly obs, and then I’ll come get you.” 

"Oh no, not that bunch," Dean groaned. "They wanted to draw blood when I got that paper cut last week - to check for rabies! I don't even have a dog!" 

Cas chuckled. “Fine, I’ll ask one of the nurses.” 

“Thank you.” Dean put his feet up on the bed and laid down. 

“No sleeping, Dean, sorry,” Cas smiled sympathetically. Cas turned the TV on in the room as Doctor Sexy was playing. 

“You okay with this?” Cas asked. 

“Yeah, I love this show!” 

“I wish I could stay here and join you, but duty calls.” Cas smiled and left Dean’s cubicle, closing the curtains behind him. 

One of the emergency room nurses checked on Dean every so often, like Cas had promised him, until the end of his shift finally arrived. 

“I’m here to bust you out,” Cas announced, holding up Dean’s discharge papers. “How are you feeling now? Let’s have one last look at your head before I sign these.” The doctor lightly prodded the lump on the back of his patient’s head and checked his pupil response once more with a pen light. 

“Am I good?” Dean inquired. 

Cas nodded. “You’re stable,” he confirmed. “Come on, my car is on the roof of the parking garage.” He placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder to steady the concussed barista as he stood up out of the hospital bed. 

“Whoa,” Dean whispered, swaying to his left. 

“I got you,” Cas replied, catching him. “Looks like your balance is off; just lean on me if you need to, alright?” 

“Mmhmm,” Dean grunted. He allowed the doctor to lead him to the car, his hand solid across his lower back for support. 

“Here we are.” Cas opened the passenger side door and helped Dean into the seat. “Buckle up and try not to vomit in my car. It’s crappy enough as it is!” He walked around to the driver’s side, where he climbed inside, turned on the engine, and drove home. 

Within twenty minutes, the doctor parked in the driveway of an older Victorian-style home in the historical district. It was sky blue with crisp white trim and a wide veranda on two sides. Cas helped Dean out of the car and up the porch steps into the parlor. 

“Wait here a minute,” he instructed, setting Dean down on the sofa. “Will you be alright while I change the sheets in the guest bedroom?”  
Dean nodded his head stiffly and grunted in assent, so Cas went upstairs to prepare the room. 

He came back down ten minutes later to find his guest dozing on the sofa. “Uh-uh, Dean, you’ve got to stay awake a little longer!” the doctor scolded. 

The barista’s eyes fluttered open and there was momentary confusion in them until he remembered where he was. “Oh… right, sorry doc,” he apologized. 

Cas smiled back. “Just another hour and then I think it’s safe to let you sleep. How are you feeling now?” 

“Alright, I guess,” he shrugged. "Head hurts a little, and I’m kinda tired.” 

“Do you want some more medicine? You should probably have another dose before you sleep,” the doctor offered. 

“I’ll take a fresh ice pack too, if you’ve got it,” Dean called out. 

“Coming right up,” Cas replied. He heard a chuckle from the other room. “What is it?” 

The barista laughed again. “You - takin’ my order for once!” 

“Maybe you hit your head harder than I thought,” Cas muttered, shaking his head. He passed the ice pack to Dean anyway. “Keep this on for fifteen minutes, alright?” 

The two had a casual conversation in Cas’ living room while waiting for the necessary hour to pass for Dean to safely sleep. 

“Congratulations, Dean, you’re in the clear now,” the doctor confirmed. “Let me show you to your room, you must be tired.” He led his sleepy house guest to the spare bedroom and they said their goodnights until the next morning. 

The sun streamed through the east-facing windows in Cas’ bedroom, waking him first, so he padded downstairs in a robe and slippers to put the coffee on. Dean came down ten minutes later in his white undershirt and plaid boxers, rubbing his eyes. 

“Usually you make the coffee,” Cas commented, “but you look like you’ve had quite the night.” 

“I feel like it, too,” Dean replied hoarsely. 

Cas looked up at him, handing him a steaming mug. “Are you feeling alright? You sound a little… wrong.” 

The barista accepted the cup of coffee and rubbed his chest absentmindedly. “It’s nothing,” he replied. Or, at least he hoped it was nothing. He set the mug down and broke into a cough. 

“Are you sure that’s nothing?” the doctor inquired. He walked around to Dean’s side of the table, placing his hand across his guest’s forehead. “You don’t feel warm…” 

Dean coughed again loudly and looked up into Cas’ eyes frantically. “Can’t... breathe!” he exclaimed.


End file.
